Saving the Fox VIII: El Guardián de los Angeles
by Therrae
Summary: In a democracy, 'the people' need to know what is going on. This makes three things absolutely necessary: the ability to form groups, the freedom to criticize the government, and access to an independent and accurate source of news.
1. September 9, 1814

**September 9, 1814**

The tavern was crowded. At the back of the room, Don Carlos stood up and waved to Don Alejandro, who waved back and then glanced at the twins. Diego nodded. While Gilberto and Don Alejandro waded through the crowded in one direction, Diego led Felipe up to the bar.

Victoria looked up and smiled when she saw them coming. She set three wine glasses on the bar and one taller one for orange juice.

"Well," Diego said, laying his hand on the bar. "Business is booming this afternoon. It should still be siesta."

"The alcalde should return with 'big news' every day; I will be a rich woman," she laughed. "Everyone is too curious to go home."

"I hope it's not bad news."

She shrugged. "What is bad news to _us_ is often good news to him. But we do have Zorro on our side." She began filling glasses from a pitcher. "Your father is looking well. I did not see him limping at all."

"Yes, he seems to be his old self, finally." Diego shot a grateful look toward the back of the room. The fever had been mild and intermittent, but it had hung on for a month, and even after it had receded he'd been noticeably unwell: grumpy, restless, easily tired. Only in the last week or so had the dark smudges under his eyes finally faded.

"I don't know what we would do without him," she said. "The pueblo, I mean."

"I cannot even think of it," Diego answered. "Thank God we'll have him for a while yet."

Victoria met his eyes for a moment and nodded. Then she lifted a plate from under the counter. "Take this, too. Who knows when the alcalde will show up." Felipe took the plate with smoked fish, cheese and bread and the glass of juice while Diego somehow managed three glasses of wine.

Sitting out in the thick of the crowd, it was impossible to follow a conversation. There was simply too much noise from too many directions. People were generally in a cheerful mood, though. The alcalde had sent word ahead that he was returning with 'good news,' and it might actually _be_ good news. Usually, he didn't want the town full of people if he was going to say something to make them angry: all those people hanging around at once might start a riot of they were upset.

Felipe sat against the wall, sipping his juice and watching the people around him. There were some women in the tavern, too and a guitar player in the far corner, though Felipe couldn't make out the music.

It was late afternoon when one of the young lancers stuck his head in the door and shouted that a party had been sighted on the road. Everyone pushed back their chairs and wandered outside, lining up beside the road to see what was coming. The alcalde had left with a party mounted on horseback with a couple of pack animals, but there was a heavily loaded wagon returning.

The alcalde smiled and waved as he came in to town. There was a little scattered applause in response. If he noticed that there was only enough to be polite, he ignored it. He dismounted and removed his traveling hat with a grand little bow and hopped onto the wagon.

Mendoza, who had been in charge of the garrison in his absence, stepped forward. "Welcome home, Alcalde," he said hopefully.

Acknowledging the greeting with a negligent wave, he looked out over the crowd. "I bring you greetings from your governor. Governor Ontiveros has determined that the free speech we practice here in Los Angeles - "

There was a stutter of confused laughter from the crowd. Free speech?

The alcalde scowled down at them. "The next man who contradicts the governor will be flogged!" he snapped. "That's better. As I was saying, it has been determined that the free speech we practice here in Los Angeles is nothing without a free press. Henceforth, each of the chartered pueblos will have its own newspaper." He looked around hopefully. The crowd stared back in various kinds of confusion and suspicion, except for a few of the caballeros, who looked dumbstruck with astonishment. The alcalde plowed ahead with his speech anyway. "To this end, the governor has given us this: A printing press!" Dramatically, he whipped the tarp off the bulky something in the wagon, revealing an odd contraption built out of polished wood and oiled metal.

It was an impressive sight, although Felipe, who had only seen a diagram in a history book once, could only have guessed _what_ it was, let alone testify that it was a printing press. It did look like something very complicated, though, and several people made murmurs of approval.

The blacksmith, standing a few feet away said, "Well, _that_ looks expensive. I don't know what news we have here, though."

Don Carlos, standing next to him chuckled, "If we have a newspaper we must be a big city. I admit I didn't notice..."

Felipe glanced up at Diego. He was staring at the contraption in rapt astonishment.

The alcalde waved for quiet. "Now, a newspaper needs an editor. There are educated men among you. In his Excellency's name, I am asking for a volunteer."

Victoria, standing between Don Alejandro and Gilberto, said, "Anyone who did it would have to be mad. The alcalde would whip anyone who criticized him."

"Not mad so much as clever," Gilberto said.

The alcalde was still looking expectantly at the crowd, which was looking back suspiciously. They were trying to puzzle out the catch.

Don Alejandro said, "I know someone who is quite clever. And he has a very nice education which he is currently wasting." He was looking at Diego out of the corner of his eye.

Diego gasped.

"Surely some of you have the vision to see what this will do for our community! The governor's representative will be here in a few weeks to see how we're making use of this generous gift. Let's show him how civic minded we are here in Los Angeles."

"Really, Father?" Diego asked.

"Unless you're content sitting around the house, reading all day."

Diego's hand shot into the air.

"You're volunteering, Don Diego?"

"Yes," Diego said. And then, louder, "Yes, I am."

There was scattered applause, a little relieved laughter, and a lot of speculative looks. Felipe wondered if Victoria had identified the only catch. And he wondered what was in it for the governor. And he wondered if Diego knew what he was doing.

Diego said, "I will publish a newspaper, to be called the. . .'The Los Angeles Guardian'. It will expose what is good in our community and what is bad."

"I commend your public spiritedness, Don Diego," the alcalde said. Felipe couldn't tell if he looked smug or only relieved to be rid of the problem.

The assembly moved on to other business then. The alcalde had gossip and news from Monterrey. When he was done, he climbed down from the wagon bed and came over to the de le Vegas.

"In order to foster the growth of the local newspapers, publishers will have use of the press at no charge for five years, after which you will have the option of buying the machine outright or paying a monthly rent."

"The governor is very generous," Diego said.

The alcalde sighed. "He believes this will make Alta California look very modern and prosperous...He may be right, but frankly I can't imagine who will notice. In any case, I can make room for the press within the cuartel, but I can only let you have the space rent-free for...two months."

Diego shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I plan to rent space in the pueblo."

"As you wish." The alcalde said polite good-byes and turned back to the fort.

Diego watched him go for a moment, then motioned to Felipe. "I need you to run an errand at the house."

Felipe nodded.

Diego signed, "You know where I keep my money?" He fingerspelled 'money' instead of using the sign.

Felipe nodded. Diego kept a small amount of money in his room, and several hundred pesos in Toronado's stable.

"I need you to bring me 100 pesos."

Felipe's jaw dropped. That was a lot of money. "I can't. Diego! There are _bandits_." Gilberto had been chasing after them for over a month.

"Not between here and home. Never so close to town, and even if there were, they would hardly expose themselves to rob _you_. You're a child."

"I'm not a child!"

"And you've done things that were actually dangerous."

Felipe threw up his hands. "Yes, fine!"

"What are you thinking, Son?" Don Alejandro asked.

"Senor Estevez has that extra room to rent, but the Munez brothers won't meet his price. I will, and I'll pay three months in advance."

"A bit impolite, stepping in on a negotiation," his father observed. He didn't look disapproving, exactly.

"A bit. Not very. And I am not publishing my newspaper from the store room behind the barracks. Felipe? Hurry back."

By the time he got back to town, the crowds in town had largely cleared out. Diego was sitting in the tavern with Senor Estevez. The only other people there were the lancers who had returned with the alcalde. They were eating dinner, wolfing it down like they hadn't eaten in days, although the returning party must have stayed at the missions and presidios and had regular, hot meals.

Diego and senor Estevez must have come to an agreement before Felipe arrived with the rent, because as soon as Diego counted out a payment, they all headed over to the dry goods store. There was new construction to the side: a store room and two tiny shops. One was filled by a harness maker. He used to just sell his work on market day, but he also made shoes and sandals and leggings, and a lot of the farmers didn't have the skill to do it well or quickly.

The second tiny shop was buzzing with activity. Don Alejandro and Gilberto were watching a group of lancers unload the bulky _thing_ from the wagon and carry it inside. In addition to the main piece, there were several boxes of other anonymous _things_. Some of them rattled.

Diego circled around, inspecting everything, muttering to himself. He frowned quite a bit. He paused now and then to stare at the ceiling. He opened one of the boxes and reverently sighed over the contents. He called Felipe over and laid something tiny and pointed in his palm.

Felipe squinted at it and lifted it into the dimming light. Grey-black and slightly shiny... A backwards lowercase letter 'H' was on one side of it. Movable type. It was so small, so precise. He carefully picked up another. They were identical. "So much power," Diego whispered in his ear. "So much freedom." Felipe glanced up from the clever bits of metal. Diego looked incredibly sentimental.

"Diego," Don Alejandro said softly. "Putting all this together will be a big job. You'll need better light, at the very least. And possibly several hours. Let's come back tomorrow." The words were a suggestion, but the tone was not.

Diego set his shoulders and straightened. "Very well. Did you - "

"Right here." He held out a heavy lock and key. Diego shooed everyone out of the room he had rented and set the lock on the door.

That night Diego was distracted at supper. Four separate times Felipe had to nudge him and point at the plate. After dinner, he read franticly - English and French - until bed time. Even after they had retired, he'd been restless, flipping through books, standing at the window, talking to Felipe in odd half-sentences.

In some ways, it was exciting to see Diego so focused and enthusiastic. He was taking extra breaths, though, and Felipe was pretty sure he was dizzy. Felipe had a long argument with himself, then slipped out to make some of the special bedtime tea. Diego looked at the cup he held out and stilled. "Now, really," he protested.

Felipe couldn't argue. His hands were full. He just shifted the cup a couple of inches closer. He gave Diego a hard look.

Diego seized the cup and drained it in three swallows. He handed it back. "Satisfied?"

Felipe nodded.

Diego sighed at him. "I am not behaving irrationally, you know."

Felipe nodded agreeably.

"Do you even understand what a newspaper means for us?"

Felipe set down the tea cup. "We're a real town, not a backwater."

"Oh, Felipe, more than that. More than that. With a newspaper, the people have a voice and the government has a watchdog. It is...more valuable than I..."

He sighed and sat down. Felipe climbed onto the bed and folded up his legs to listen.

"Running a town or a territory or an empire...is not like running a large ranch. My father knows everyone who works here. If a problem arises, they bring it to him or to Juan... and if something terrible happens - if something nefarious were to happen - it would be impossible to keep it secret. But a government...there are more then six hundred people living in the pueblo or close to it, and that isn't counting two hundred more at the mission or forty more down at San Pedro! How could any alcalde judge the competence and temperament of all those people? And how are the people to defend themselves if the government is unjust? If my father treats a vaquero badly, he can go work for someone else, but the government is the government; it has a monopoly and it is burdensome and inconvenient to find another."

A laugh rippled over Felipe. "Go north, join the Russians."

Diego nodded, "Or go east for a month or two and see if you like the American government better, ay? There has to be a better answer."

Felipe considered this. "You cannot run Upper California like a rancho."

"But the people of California can go a long way to governing and defending _themselves_ if they have access to accurate and relevant information. If corruption is revealed, it will not be tolerated. If problems are publicly discussed, solutions can be found. _This_ is what a newspaper can do."

Well...it was a nice idea if it would work.

Diego smiled tolerantly at the dubious look. "Newspapers do other things as well: wedding announcements, births, eulogies, advertisements...and these do a little to help hold a community together. But the primary duty of the fourth estate is to give people the information they need to defend themselves and make good decisions." Diego yawned. "Come to think of it, I seem to be rather tired. Would you hand me my nightshirt, Felipe?"


	2. September 10, 1814

_I own neither characters nor setting and I'm not making any profit. I did__ finally__ read _The Curse of Capistrano _and it was surprisingly satisfying! Ah. How time flies. It hardly reads like almost a century old..._

_Thanks as always to Senselesswords for the title. _

**September 10, 1814**

The morning was spent helping the carpenter Pedro Morales and his sons erect a very large, sturdy table in the new newspaper office. At lunch time, Don Alejandro and Gilberto showed up with a set of makeshift shelves and an ugly old desk they had convinced Don Carlos to donate.

Gilberto was pretending to be alert, but he had huge circles under his eyes. He'd spent most of the night hunting for the bandits who were plaguing the outlying farms. The problem was that the territory was just so large. When they struck, it was a day or two before Zorro found out about it, and by then the trail was cold. Gilberto had been searching for over a month, now.

Gilberto didn't linger after lunch. He slipped off quietly, while Diego and Don Alejandro were caught in some complicated debate about civil society. Felipe assumed he was headed home to get some sleep.

They were the only ones in the tavern. Victoria had no guests, and all the locals who had packed the town yesterday for the alcalde's announcement were back at home, now working. Even the lancers were absent: out on maneuvers for three days down by San Pedro.

When lunch was over, Victoria gave Pilar the day off and closed up, so she could follow them over and see the new press. Senor Estevez , Corporal Sepulveda (only one of three lancers left in town), and the alcalde poked their heads in to look, too. Everyone agreed it looked very impressive, but mostly people didn't stay very long.

Diego and Don Alejandro carefully went over the mechanism, checking the joints and making sure that they'd assembled it correctly. Felipe and Victoria started going through the other boxes. They held trays and trays of letters. The typeface.

"Should we inventory, do you suppose," Victoria asked, running her fingers over the little metal squares. "Did Diego have to sign for any of this?"

"How would we count them? By the box? By weight?" Surely they wouldn't have to count each and every letter! And then Felipe looked down and gasped. "Different! They're different."

Victoria smiled. "Yes, there are twenty-six different letters," she giggled.

The joke did nothing to alleviate the horror in Felipe's belly. He grabbed two letters and jumped up and thrust them into Diego's vision.

"What is it? Felipe? I don't...well, yes, they are different fonts. Entries can be written in different styles or sizes." He patted Felipe's arm absently and squatted down beside the box. "It's nothing to worry about...I expect...Oh..._oh_, dear."

"What's wrong?" Don Alejandro asked.

"The fonts aren't labeled. And they're not grouped by font. I've got a box of plain quarter-inch capital As next to a box of-of very small serif lower-case Fs."

"Is this any help?" Victoria held up a sheet of paper with lots of random looking printing on it.

Diego sighed. "Yes. Exactly. This is...a kind of sampler that identifying the different fonts." He frowned at the paper, lifting it into the light. "Actually, this is quite nice. Not fancy, but they gave us some choices...Unfortunately, it seems we are going to have to sort them ourselves."

"That's hardly a tragedy," Victoria said, taking the paper back. "We would have to look in each box before putting them on the shelves anyway."

There were three typefaces, each in four sizes. Victoria lifted the boxes out of the crate and piled them by simple, curvy or very curvy letters, then Felipe divided them by size. The two smallest sizes were very similar, and always took an extra second to differentiate.

They were halfway through the first box when Father Benitez appeared in the doorway. "Good afternoon, Don Diego. Ah, Don Alejandro, Senorita Victoria. My, how quickly things are coming. When is the first issue coming out? Tomorrow?"

Diego laughed. "Maybe the day after."

"You'll need a typesetter."

"I'd planned to do it myself, unless you are volunteering, Father."

He shook his head. "Diego, Diego. You need to think toward the _future_, my boy." He reached behind him and brought forward a neophyte boy slightly older than Felipe. "Behold the solution to your problems. This is Nicolas. The brothers at San Gabriel can't quite keep him busy enough to keep him out of trouble."

Diego smiled wryly. "A sterling recommendation."

"He speaks four languages and writes the two that have alphabets."

Diego straightened very slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Hmmm," he said. "Let's take a walk."

When they were gone, Victoria and Felipe returned to sorting the letters. Don Alejandro turned away from the press and stood over them.

"Victoria," he said softly.

She looked up.

"So?" he asked.

"So?" she repeated innocently. And then she glanced around and swallowed.

"Are you going to tell me why you are so angry...or shall I stand here and make random guesses?"

"Angry with you?" she evaded nervously.

"Yes, _angry_ with me. You aren't being subtle. So let's drag it into the open, eh?"

She shut her mouth hard. "I apologize if I've given you that impression. I would certainly never criticize - "

He laughed at that. "You criticize the government. Am I so formidable?" He made a hurry up gesture.

"No, but you are - that is, I cannot - Well, one's elders - " She froze under his withering gaze. "Not that you are _elderly_, certainly." When he didn't answer that she took a deep breath and fairly exploded, "How could you? This will be a huge responsibility! And a great deal of work! And you shamed him into it, pushed him, and I know he's much better than he was, but he still isn't strong enough - " She stopped abruptly and put her hand over her mouth.

Felipe closed his eyes and ducked, wishing he could somehow hide from what was coming. Don Alejandro was going to yell. Even when he'd been deaf, Felipe could feel the floor shiver when Don Alejandro was in a rage. This was going to be awful.

"Oh, Victoria, Victoria," Don Alejandro was speaking so quietly that Felipe could barely hear it.

"I'm sorry, I know I have no right - "

"You have absolutely no idea. None. We have a round-up in three weeks. Already, Diego has started lobbying to participate. He argues very convincingly. As you would expect. And he is very earnest and hopeful... And I must say 'No, but maybe next year.' Next year..." He looked down at his hands. "That is a lie of course. Can you imagine Diego on a horse, alone, down some canyon chasing strays? A dizzy spell or - Heaven forbid - one of his heart seizures...I must refuse him. I must."

He took a deep breath. "At every round-up he is angry with me. And for a couple of weeks afterward he sulks...and worse... And then yesterday the alcalde appeared with this printing press and it was an answer to my prayers. A printing press! You have never lived in a town with a newspaper, Victoria. You cannot possibly know what this means. You can't imagine the potential. But _he_ can. And this printing press...To be useful to the community, to _really_ contribute, to be so involved in something that will help build our very future. Ah, Victoria...so yes, I pushed him into it. So he wouldn't doubt that I believed he could - and he can and he must because the alternative is sitting at home despising his weakness and...because, by God, if he has an attack here, it is the _newspaper office_ and a bull is not going to trample him."

Victoria swallowed hard. "He will be useful and safe."

"Useful? In ten of fifty or a hundred years, it won't matter who brought in the strays, but it _will_ matter that Los Angeles had a newspaper. He'll miss the round-up, but he won't mind, because what he'll be doing instead is so much more important..."

"I'm sorry I - "

"Don't," he said. "And don't do it again." He looked around the room, sighed wearliy, and went outside.

Victoria peered sadly into the box of lead letters.

Felipe nudged her arm. "He won't tell Diego. You don't either."

"Don't tell..." she repeated. "Oh, no. I wouldn't." She lifted her chin. "Obviously, Diego can do this. I am very excited for him."

"Smile," Felipe said. "Be busy."

They were again intent on the sorting when Diego returned a few minutes later with the Neophyte boy. Diego took a seat on one of the unopened boxes and motioned Nicolas to come beside him. He took a plate and demonstrated how the process worked. He dropped several of the letters before finishing the first sentence. "Well, and that is the problem, isn't it? It's a skill. And if it's a skill you can become proficient at...well, you will become rare and valuable. Ten years from now it might not just be a newspaper, but pamphlets and books and advertisements. As slow as it seems sometimes, the colony _is_ growing."

"I can do it," the boy whispered, his eyes fixed hungrily on the boxes of letters. "I will learn it. I will pay you - "

Diego shook his head. "No, it's work. I will pay _you_...in addition to what I will pay the mission for borrowing you."

Nicholas lifted his eyes, said carefully, "Sometimes there is an apprentice contract...?"

Diego laughed at that. "I can't take you as an apprentice - I can't teach you to do this. I've never actually seen it done. We will have to figure it out together. And with that in mind, I'll need you at least four days a week at first. Until you have a system down, and some speed. The paper will only be two pages long, I think. Eventually, you'll be good enough to lay the type for that in a day. Less, I should think. Of course, eventually there will be other things to publish, but not for a while." He showed Nicholas what Felipe and Victoria were doing, and after that it was the three of them sorting tiny box after tiny box of little letters.

On the way home that evening, Felipe said, "I could typeset for you. I can write Spanish and French...and a little Latin and English."

Diego looked at him in surprise. "_You_ have enough to do! Besides, you have a great many options for your future. Father Benitez believes that Nicholas needs this opportunity. Not just for himself. If the native peoples of California are to take their place as subjects of the king and people of reason, they must enter the skilled crafts and professions. They must be army officers and priests and doctors and journalists."

Oh, yes. Father Benitez was easily as mad as any of the de le Vegas. "They cannot be a priest. Or an army officer," Felipe pointed out.

Diego shrugged. "Not yet. But the colony is still very young. We must prepare."

Felipe didn't bother to argue. Diego had once said that humans would visit the moon. Naturally, he didn't see _this_ world the way everyone else did.

~tbc


	3. September 13, 1814

_As always, I don't own this story or these characters or any of the recognizable ideas and plots. _

_Also-Thanks to Senselesswords for the title.__She is endlessly patient..._

**September 13, 1814**

Early each morning Felipe and Diego rode to the pueblo to work on the press with Nicholas. They arranged the letters in trays and practiced laying out pages. Nicholas tried to mimic pages of the Bible: Diego had said they might keep the practice sheets and he had a short list of favorites he wanted for himself. Felipe tried a page in English - nothing original, just a passage he'd been memorizing. Maybe he was showing off. Diego took sections from history books or philosophy essays. He posted them around town when they ran the "proof" page. For fun.

It was Don Alejandro who made the proofs. He'd come in after lunch, still dusty from the range. He seemed fascinated by the mechanics of the press. He'd take the plates the nascent typesetters had laid out and position them on the wooden frame. He'd roll the ink over them, and then turn the great upper panel to press the paper down on the words.

They didn't see much of Gilberto. He was interested in the press, too, but he feigned indifference and spent as much time as he could hunting bandits.

As the days passed they got much better at it. The first day they had only half a page between them and, when tested, it came out backwards. Now it still took the whole morning to fill a plate, but at least you could read the words through the typesetting mistakes.

Last night Felipe had borrowed one of Diego's notebooks (without permission) and he used it to fill the plate with Diego's own poetry. When Don Alejandro made the proof, it came out very nicely. A couple of wrong letters, but the spaces were all in the right place and the printing had improved, too: not so much ink things blurred and not so little it was pale or blotchy. Don Alejandro made an extra of that one, and when he finished the other pages, took the poetry over to the tavern to show Don Carlos. Diego, when he found out what was on the page, was terribly embarrassed.

In the afternoons, they had to _un_set the type. That was both slower and more boring. It was nearly dusk before they finished sorting all the tiny letters and wiping down the press. Gilberto came in then, laughing and teasing Diego about working his 'staff' too late. Diego teased him for being lazy and lying around the ranch all day. But he sent Nicholas home. (It was too far to travel back and forth to the mission every day, so he was staying at the rectory in town. He would have been welcome at the ranch, but neophytes who were on contract to work off the mission were forbidden to sleep in the towns or ranches; the colonists were considered a 'bad influence' on the innocent Indios.)

This afternoon, Gilberto sat behind the desk and heaved a huge sigh as Diego shut and locked the windows and lit a lamp. "What happened?" he asked.

"I was this close," he said heavily. "I actually saw them. But they had set fire to the Rivas farm - not Pablo, Jose - and we would have lost it all if the fall rains hadn't started early in the hills." He ran his hands through his hair in a gesture that _so_ much his father that Felipe felt a bit disoriented. "I went after them, but Toronado came up lame - just a stone in his shoe, but enough to put me too far behind them when they crossed the damned rocks..." he groaned. "I lost them. I was close enough to _see_ them and I lost them...I feel like a complete and utter failure. Zorro, the joke of the territory."

"Yes, I can see why you would be despondent. Really, there's no excuse for not catching them by now. It's not as though being Zorro is difficult; surely anyone can find whole half-dozen people in a space that can't be more than three or four hundred square miles. Especially since there are three or four roads in the area. Five, if you count the deer track out by - "

"Very funny. The criminals should not have to come to me on foot, waving their hats in the air and carrying signs that say "we raid farms" before I can catch them."

Diego sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Let's take this seriously, then. The reason they're harrying the outlying farms instead of picking off people close to town or going for the coach line is because they're afraid of Zorro. We need a different strategy. Some way to predict where they'll strike so you can be waiting for them. We could find a farm they haven't hit yet and simply lie in wait, but, no...that would take too long. Or some way to more quickly communicate to the patrols so that the lancers can catch up to them."

Gilberto leaned back in the chair and let his eyes drift closed. "That is part of what I wanted to talk to you about. The lancers... I've been talking to the farmers. They complain about the bandits, the next day a patrol comes out and wanders aimlessly, and then they return to the cuartel, and that is the end of it."

"I'm impressed," Diego said. "That is even more incompetent than Ramone usually is."

Gilberto opened his eyes. "You're being very generous."

"Am I?" Diego frowned. "Ah. That is quite an accusation."

"And you now have the venue to make it."

"'Berto! Without evidence, accusations are libel."

"Well, accuse him of the incompetence then. There is more than enough evidence of that! _Ask_ where our government 'protection' is while our people are being harried and robbed. Surely that's a fair question!"

"Oh...yes...I can do that." Diego's eyes were far away.

"You might want to have a few words with Rivas and one or two of the other victims."

"Yes. I suppose I'd better. That's how these things are done..."

"Tomorrow. I haven't eaten all day. Let's go home for supper."

Early the next morning Diego and Felipe were on the road headed north. Because such a long day riding would be too hard on the ancient Esperanza, Diego was riding Andromeda. She was placid and lazy, but younger and stronger.

They rode two hours past the mission and then turned west on a narrow wagon track. It was good land up here, plenty of water most years and fertile soil. It was a long way from town, though, and big, open country with lots of hills and ravines. Bandit country.

Diego was armed. There was a pistol in his saddle bags. Felipe suspected that if he'd been alone, Diego would not have bothered. Just as well, then, that Felipe_ was_ along. For all the good one pistol would do them if they did meet bandits.

They came to the Juarez farm first. It was just Senora Juarez, her elderly father, and the youngest girl at home - all the older children were out with the sheep. The old man kept his musket pointed nearsightedly in Diego's general direction while the haggard woman explained that she didn't know anything about the bandits that had burned her barn, and she didn't want to talk about it.

At the Rivas farm they had better luck. Jose was angry. He was repairing his roof - burned by the outlaws, although Felipe wasn't sure of the point of that: how did they benefit from taking an extra moment to add property damage to the theft of a horse and a pig? - and he called down his answers as he worked.

He confirmed six bandits...their faces covered...their horses a nondescript brown. This time of year there were few crops to trample, but they'd ridden in circles around the farm, yelling and firing their weapons. They'd stolen some things that were handy: a pig, a sheep, a horse.

Jose swung down from the roof, called to Diego to wait, and ran to the house. He returned a moment later, a folded scrap of paper in his hand. "After they'd gone I found this tacked to my door. Can you...can you tell me what it says?"

Gravely, Diego passed his notebook to Felipe and took the note. "It's from the outlaws. You have until the full moon to pay or they will return and burn your barn to the ground."

Jose nodded. "I have no money. I paid my taxes this year in sheep. No money." He took a deep breath. "Even if I did, I think I would not pay them. I would rather die fighting for what I have built than..." He shrugged and shook his head, unable to say what he meant.

"You shouldn't have to," Diego said. "That is why men tolerate the inconveniences of government - to fight the fights we cannot or should not fight ourselves."

"Not once has the army fought these bandits," Jose said.

"No," Diego agreed. "And I'll be asking why."

"Senor, can _The Guardian_ make a difference as Zorro says? The full moon is only a week away."

"I'll do my best," Diego promised.

He visited the Sanchez farm next. The buildings were small, but well-made. The adobe was perfectly straight and blindingly whitewashed. The bandits had struck here a few weeks before, and they'd had proper time to clean up. They were wary, though. Senora Sanchez wouldn't come out of the house, and while her husband was polite enough, he wouldn't talk about what had happened.

Diego took his leave and waited until they'd gone over the first hill to check the map. "It's shorter if we head straight south from here," he frowned. "The creek is probably low enough to walk the horses across, and then we can follow it southwest until we come to the mission vineyards."

The ground soon became rocky and sloped, covered in tall yellowed grass that was only just beginning to green again in the fall rains. It was very pretty to look at, but hard to farm. They were technically on mission land now, but it was spring pastureland for cattle, not under plow.

Suddenly, Diego turned Andromeda and detoured into a stand of short, twisted, oak trees. As soon as he entered the shade, he dismounted and braced himself between the nearest tree trunk and the stirrup.

Felipe hopped off Sunshine and ran to Diego's side. His left hand was digging into the bark and his shoulders were hunched forward. Unsteady. Panting. Sick.

Felipe made a quick prayer and ducked under Diego's arm so he was on the right side of him. From the front he looked even worse: his skin was white, he was breathing through his teeth, and his hair was plastered to his face with sweat, even though it wasn't such a very hot day.

"Down," Felipe said.

Diego shook his head. "Don't have _time_." And it was bad, because even three words left him gasping. "I have to get back...I have to write this story...the newspaper..."

Felipe shook his head. "Down."

"Rivas! This story...is the only hope he has."

Angry now, Felipe reached up and slapped his shoulder. "Dummy! Tomorrow is Sunday!" His words were broad and slow. "Nicholas can't set type. Your father can't print. It doesn't matter."

Diego sagged and closed his eyes.

Felipe nudged him hard. "The first paper comes out on Wednesday. You said so. You have days. The full moon is Friday. Sit down."

Diego released the stirrup and allowed himself to be helped to the ground. Felipe settled him sitting against the trunk and removed the saddle bags to use to raise his feet even further. Sometimes that helped, if Diego's heart didn't have to work against gravity to move blood around that tall body.

His pulse was fast and weak. Felipe said another prayer and tried to think. The little green bottle that had the emergency medicine was in his sash. It wasn't ever much help, but it was the best they'd been able to come up with. Felipe offered it, taking the stopper out at Diego's nod.

When he'd put the empty bottle away, he opened the canteen and offered that too. Diego managed a few small sips before leaning back to get his breath.

Except he couldn't get his breath.

This was going to last a while. Felipe retrieved the pistol, not that it would do much good while they were stuck here. One shot. If the bandits were to stumble across them there would be no time to reload...

Felipe tied up the horses and watered them out of his hat. Then he sat down beside Diego to wait the seizure out. There was nothing else to do. Diego could not sit a horse like this. They were at least four miles from the nearest house...assuming they were where Felipe thought they were, and they might not be. That was the thing about taking a shortcut and aiming for the creek, you only had to be more or less right for it to work.

Next time they went wandering in bandit-infested no-man's land, they were taking Zorro with them. Ha. As though Gilberto would have minded, if they'd asked.

Hating the helpless worry that seemed to mire every thought, Felipe retrieved Diego's pocket watch and opened it. When he wasn't watching for signs of movement on the hillside he watched the minutes crawl by. In only ten, though, Diego rubbed his face and leaned back. He was no longer straining.

Felipe passed him the canteen. Diego took a long drink and dripped a little on his face. "Please, don't tell them," he whispered.

Felipe lifted his chin. "If they ask, I won't tell a lie they won't believe."

Diego groaned.

Felipe gently tugged him down so his head was resting in Felipe's lap. They wouldn't make it home if they went rushing off. Diego didn't argue. He rested for half an hour, collecting his strength. Felipe didn't think he got any sleep, but his color was good when he finally sat up and said he was ready to go on.

It was dusk when they got back to the house. Felipe stayed in the barn to look after the horses, just in case anyone thought to ask him any questions.

When he finished he found Diego at his desk writing madly and on his second sheet of paper (the first filled with writing and crumbled into an angry little ball). Felipe got some water and washed up, then got some more...but Diego ignored his hints about being dusty and sweaty and scruffy until it was almost time for supper.

They came to the table without _quite_ being late. Diego passed Gilberto his finished pages on his way to his seat.

"No reading at the table," Don Alejandro said absently. "And you're a little old to need to be reminded."

Dinner was chicken and rice, with wilted greens and a savory custard. Felipe discovered he was starving. Lunch had been bread and cheese eaten between farms. He looked hungrily at the platter.

"It's his article," Gilberto said, unable to tear his eyes away. "He's entitled it '_Farms Raided: Military Offers No Protection_." That's rather long, for headline, don't you think? And not very...catchy."

"I have three days to think about it," Diego said.

Gilberto's eyes ranged over the paper. "My God! Are you _trying_ to give the alcalde apoplexy?"

"I never mention the alcalde at all."

Don Alejandro cleared his throat, and Gilberto sheepishly handed the pages over. "If you're not subtler than that you'll get yourself arrested, Little Brother."

Don Alejandro cleared his throat again, and Gilberto abruptly shut his mouth and ducked his head for prayer.

Felipe burned with curiosity about what was in the story, but Diego didn't like it when people read over his shoulder and there hadn't been time, what with rushing to get ready for supper.

After he said "Amen," Don Alejandro said, "You are _not_ to get arrested. And, by the way, I cannot believe I have to say that."

"Better now than later, I think," Diego said. "There is an official coming to check up on the newspaper. How thrilled will he be if he finds the editor in jail? Especially if he doesn't see anything improper in the content...We could get all the arresting out of the way early and perhaps a decree not to do it again."

That earned him a frown. Don Alejandro picked up the article (even though he'd forbidden reading at the table just a moment before). "Diego...the last time you were arrested..."

"The last time I was arrested I was quite ill. And we were unprepared. And the pueblo had no parish priest." To show he was not worried, he took a bite of chicken.

Don Alejandro looked up from the paper. "You think that will help?"

"I think the Alcalde cannot refuse a prisoner a visit from his confessor...and he can't prohibit Father Benitez from bringing whatever he wants with him. If it should come to that."

"I don't like it." He looked down at the page again. "But I don't see anything here that could be used as an excuse for an arrest, anyway. I admit it's not very flattering to the local garrison, but you don't present their failure as outright negligence."

The twins glanced at each other. Diego shrugged. Gilberto dropped his eyes and began to eat with great concentration. Don Alejandro kept reading, eating his rice absently. "This is extortion!" he exclaimed.

"Threatening to burn Rivas' farm to the ground unless he pays them? Yes. Bold, aren't they?" Diego said. He and Gilberto were both keeping their eyes fixed on their plates.

Don Alejandro set Diego's pages aside. "Bold? Stupid if they go through with it after you publish this story."

"I think...they've done it before. And the other farmers paid. But they wouldn't say. I haven't gotten it on the record."

"Diego..."

Diego looked up. "We need to move carefully, Father. There are some other people I might talk to after church tomorrow, and I'll need an official statement from the garrison. The alcalde's response..." he trailed off, frowning.

"The full moon is in less than a week."

"Yes, all right. Carefully, but not slowly," Diego said.

Felipe nudged him and pointed at the plate: Diego was forgetting to eat again. Diego smiled briefly and pushed his food around with his fork. Felipe tapped Diego's ankle with his toe. Resigned, Diego took a bit of chicken.

Z

Later, while Diego was getting ready for bed, Gilberto came by his room. He shut the door and said softly, "You're right, what you said before. Better to get the arresting out of the way now."

"You'll talk to Father?" Diego asked.

"He'll see the sense of it. Diego. Just enough to make Ramone, angry, you understand. Nothing to make it seem to an outsider that he had an excuse."

Diego rolled his eyes. "Leave that to me."

Gilberto started to turn. He paused and looked back. "If he mistreats you, I will come for you."

Diego smiled slightly. "I should hope so."

_**~TBC**_

_I love news._

_In a dictatorship it doesn't matter if people have accurate news: the can't do anything about anything anyway. In fact, it is in the interest of the government to keep people ignorant so they don't complain and get all inconvenient. _

_In a democracy, though, the people have to know what is going on: they are making the decisions. If they don't know where the wars are or what the fight is over...if they don't know who is abusing public power for fraud...if they don't know who is poisoning their wells and farms...if they don't know which crimes and disasters are actually likely to strike...well, then nothing can be down about it by __**anyone**__, and eventually the problems will swallow you whole._


	4. September 17, 1814

_-Thank you all so much for the encouragement with this monster..._

_I don't own any of it. This is done for love, not money. _

**September 17, 1814**

When the sun was low in the sky, Felipe lit the lamps. Then, deciding that wouldn't be enough light, he went and borrowed two more from Victoria at the tavern. It was going to be a long night.

Neither page one nor page two was set, though they had been working all day. There had to be some trick to fitting everything on the page while at the same time filling the whole page. And even if you got everything to fit, if you crammed everything together it was unreadable.

There were things you could do with font sizes and boxes and curlicues. Surprise. Felipe had thought all that complication was just silly, but no. They'd set the pages twice so far. Each. And when Felipe got back with the lamps he found that Diego had had Nicholas un-set page two again...

Diego was pale...and probably he was sitting down because he was afraid he would knock something over (again) if he was standing up. It had been a _very_ long day. He was staring at a blank sheet of newsprint, frowning, moving other scraps of paper around on it. "Felipe? Oh, there you are. Bring me page one?"

The tray was _heavy_. Nicholas had to help carry it.

Diego pointed to a section at the bottom. "Pull this out and replace it with this," he handed Felipe a wedding notice. "Sixteen point font, double layer of box around it." He heaved a sigh.

Felipe frowned and nudged him.

"I'm fine," Diego said.

Felipe set about pulling the two-paragraph story about the death of Old Teodor Juarez's two headed sheep (which had lived an unusual eight months). It was time consuming, undoing the letters backwards and putting them back in their little bins.

Victoria appeared with a tray laden with covered plates and a pitcher of orange juice. "I am calling a dinner break," she announced, looking for a surface that wasn't covered with scraps of paper.

The plates held tamales and beans and melon slices and little tarts. Felipe reached for his and realized his hands were filthy. Wincing he took his handkerchief and wet it in the water bucket. It wiped off some of the grime, but not the ink stains.

Diego, mean while, rose carefully and cleaned off enough of his desk so that Felipe and Nicholas had a place to set their plates and cups. Victoria pulled up an empty crate, sat on it like a stool (since every chair in the room was full), and said, "So? How is our first edition coming?"

Diego sighed and shook his head. "Better we talk about something pleasant: this is delicious. No wonder Mendoza practically worships you."

She nodded. "I'd be more touched by the compliment if the three of you didn't look half-starved."

"Hopefully, when we get a little experience," Diego looked around the messy office and shrugged. "It can't always be this bad," he said.

Victoria looked at him for a long moment. "Diego...about what we discussed on Sunday..."

He glanced back at her. "Ah...yes?" he said blankly.

"The _suggestion_," she prompted.

"Oh! Yes." Diego nodded.

"I have a sample." She took a folded sheet of paper from her sash and held it out. "If...I mean...I realize you don't have much time right now..."

Diego took the paper and shook it open with his left hand. He glanced over it - probably the rule about not reading at the table didn't apply in the newspaper office- and dropped his fork. "It's perfect!" he said.

"Perfect? I hardly think...I mean, it's probably overly generous to say it's_ good_. I expect it to improve when I don't have to originate the questions as well as the answers."

"No, no. This is just what I needed." Diego was up and on his way to the worktable, not pausing for the dizzy wobble in his progress. "It's perfect." He shoved the half-cleared plate for page two out of the way and dragged over one of the empty ones. "Now let's see..." He dug through the tattered copy that littered the table. "At the top of the page...Don Sebastian's letter to the editor...eight point, maybe...and then over here..." his voice died away into muttering.

"Should we help?" Nicholas asked.

Not yet. Felipe shook his head and stuffed in another bite.

Victoria stared at Diego's back. "I've never seen him like this," she said softly. "He seems...obsessed."

"It's called a 'deadline,' Senorita," Nicholas said politely, his eyes down. "We must be ready to print before dawn tomorrow morning."

"Market day," Felipe added slowly, so she could follow.

"Yes," she agreed. "I suppose...there are many farmers and craftsmen who scramble to get ready for market day. It just seems odd. He never paints planning to be finished at a particular moment. I don't cook aiming to serve the food at a _particular_ moment. Ships don't arrive on a schedule, not really, they just come as they come...Surely, something as momentous as our first newspaper can't be rushed. "

Felipe thought about that. "Religious services," he said. She frowned and Nicholas translated: "At church. The offices at the Hours. And Vespers, you know."

Felipe nodded. He didn't pause in his eating. Once Diego decided how to lay out the page they would be back to work.

Indeed, now that they had the right mix of words and letters-sizes to write them with, the page went very quickly. They were finished by midnight. Nicholas went back to the rectory as usual, but Diego had taken a room for himself and Felipe at Victoria's. It was simply too late to be riding home when they would have to be back in town in just a few hours.

In the morning it took three tries to wake Diego, but once he got out of bed excitement had him dressed and hurrying down the stairs so quickly that Felipe was still carrying his sandals when they came out of the tavern. It was cool and still very dark. Felipe paused on the porch to put on his shoes. In the square there were a few merchants already setting up stalls.

They had only just gotten the newspaper office unlocked and the lamps lit when Don Alejandro arrived. He was going to help turn the press today, since it was their first big print run. Up until this point they'd only made two or three copies at a time, to check the typesetting and make sure the ink was dark enough and didn't blotch. Today, it was fifty copies. A real newspaper.

Felipe positioned the broad sheets of paper. Don Alejandro - wearing a patched leather apron - rolled out the ink and turned the great gear that brought the weight down. Nicholas removed the printed sheet and laid it to the side to dry. Diego paced nervously.

When they had fifty copies of page one, Felipe and Nicholas shifted the plates so they could imprint page two. Although their practice had gotten them to the point where the quality was quite good, each page took most of a minute. Every once in a while, too, they stopped to drink some water and stretch and count pages and suggest ways to make the process less awkward and messy.

When they finally finished the sun was completely up and Don Alejandro was sweaty from the hard work. He pushed back his hair and sighed. "Diego, I think I'm an old man. This was a lot harder than I thought it would be."

Diego shook his head. "Felipe and Nicholas haven't got the girth yet, have they? And Gilberto hasn't got the patience."

"Where is your brother, anyway?" Don Alejandro muttered.

Diego was still studying the press. He sighed. "I...don't see how I could do it. Still, now that we've figured out how to do it...it's a skill that can be taught."

Don Alejandro nodded. "A couple of hours a week...I can think of a few people who'd like to make a little pocket money - " he broke off and looked down at the stack of crisp new newspapers. "Diego! There's no price on it. We forgot..." He looked unhappily at the press, clearly not wanting to start over.

Diego shook his head. "There's no charge today."

"Son, a newspaper is not a charity."

"No, well, it's not like selling a bull, either. How can a 'customer' know a newspaper is any good _before_ he reads it? I'll charge two centavos next week, if people decide it's worth buying."

Don Alejandro grunted. "You still won't break even."

"I'll be lucky if I can pay for the paper and ink," Diego agreed. "But eventually, there'll be advertising."

"Ah, so there will. Of course, it would help if we had more businesses to advertise, but it's good to have an eye on the future."

Diego laughed. "Even if it is a distant future."

The four of them stared at the pile of newspapers.

"Well. This is it." Diego split the pile and handed half each to Felipe and Nicholas. "Will you pass them out? Just...around town. Make sure the tavern gets one, and the rectory, and the doctor's house. And leave a few at the store next door."

Town was crowded, and everyone turned to look at the newspapers. Faces smiled politely, and hands reached out. A few asked about cost, but Felipe just smiled and shook his head. It didn't take long for his stack to be gone.

Walking back toward the newspaper office, he saw that hardly anyone was buying at the stalls. Almost everyone was caught in little clusters, listing to someone who was reading aloud. No one was smiling. They all looked very serious. Felipe paused on the tavern porch to watch.

Gilberto rode into the pueblo on Viking. He tossed the reins absently to Felipe, but his is eyes were scanning the booths scattered across the plaza. He smiled slightly and walked - slowly, casually listening as he went - to the newspaper office. Felipe stroked Viking's nose. Viking, fairly well-mannered and friendly, searched Felipe's pockets for treats.

Diego, his father and brother well behind him, came out of the news paper office. Everyone in the plaza turned to look. It got so quiet that Felipe could hear the splash of the fountain.

Don Carlos folded his newspaper with a flourish, handed it to Don Sebastian, and strode over to Diego. He took Diego's hand and pumped it vigorously, grinning up at him. "Congratulations! Los Angeles has a newspaper! Before you know it we'll have to pave the street and hire a constable."

There was scattered laughter and applause to that, and other men began to wander over to shake Diego's hand. Don Alejandro was positively beaming. Gilberto was smiling blandly, but Felipe thought he looked...watchful. Then, glancing toward the cuartel, he breathed in and squared his shoulders. Felipe turned to look.

The alcalde - Mendoza scampering after him, shouting incoherent questions - was bearing down on Diego like a ship at full sail. Felipe sighed. It would have been nice if the congratulations had lasted a little longer.

"Don Diego! You have printed lies about me and my government! I demand to know the sources of your information!"

Diego took a single step away from his father and said mildly, "Alaclde, the truth speaks for itself. And my sources are my business."

"That is no defense against sedition. I am forced place you under arrest and impound the press. Sergeant Mendoza!"

Mendoza stumbled a little hurrying forward. "Yes, Alcalde?"

"Arrest him. And the other one, while you're at it."

"The other one, Alcalde?" He cast a nervous look at Don Alejandro.

The alcalde flicked his fingers at Gilberto. "Both of them."

Mendoza looked acutely embarrassed. "I am sorry," he said.

The twins exchanged a single glance. "Think nothing of it," Diego said pleasantly. "Please, lead the way."

Gilberto said, "It's my first arrest. I should at least be dragged away in chains." But the twins calmly followed Mendoza back across the plaza.

The alcalde lifted his chin and looked out over the silent shoppers. "Henceforth, I will publish _The Guardian_," he announced.

Don Alejandro took a step closer and turned so they were standing side by side. "Gilberto had nothing to do with the newspaper." He was speaking softly, but Felipe could see the words.

He could see the answer, too: "He has a byline in the paper. Quite articulate, in fact. You must have spent a mint on their education."

"An article on weather patterns!"

The alcalde shrugged. "It may take me a while to sort out the...complexities of their crime. In the mean time, while I have _them_ both in custody, I am quite sure _you_ will be a model citizen."

"My lawyer will be here in three days!"

"Yes, I've met him. Earnest little man." The alcalde smiled a polite goodbye and returned to his office.

Only when the alcalde had turned his back did Don Alejandro's rage show. And even that was brief. He motioned Felipe and Nicholas over and, a hand on each of their shoulders, led them into the newspaper office.

Felipe breathed in and out, trying to ignore his growing panic. Gilberto was in _jail_. All of their planning had assumed that Zorro would be free to act while Diego was arrested. What if Diego got sick? What if the alcalde or one of the soldiers mistreated him? How would they get him _out_?

Don Alejandro sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I assume Diego had a talk with you boys about...this possibility?"

Nicholas nodded. "I am to go back to the mission and wait."

"Yes, that's best. Don't leave mission land until Diego is out of jail. It's best if you're safely out of all this."

Nicholas nodded.

"Felipe - Oh, son, no, don't look so fearful." He laid his hands on Felipe's shoulders. "Diego will be all right."

Felipe tried to look reassured. He didn't think it was working. Actually, he felt sick to his stomach.

Don Alejandro sighed. "Felipe, last summer...Diego was very frail. He's much stronger now, and it isn't nearly as hot...and Gilberto is with him. I am sure the alcalde would not dare to mistreat him with a witness. Diego _will be all right_."

Felipe nodded, trying not to worry about the bandits or the farmer Rivas. But what were they going to do? Zorro wasn't supposed to be _in jail_. Gilberto had ruined everything by getting himself arrested. Everything.

Don Alejandro, completely oblivious to the disaster they were facing, hugged Felipe and patted his shoulder. "I have to send Gus or Arturo for Don Luis. Has Diego eaten breakfast? No? Then go on to the tavern and get a basket of snacks." He handed Felipe two pesos, which would by an absurdly huge meal. "Take it over to the jail. You'll feel better when you've seen him. And perhaps...then you could let Father Benitez know that Diego has been arrested. It wouldn't hurt if he dropped by and reminded the alcalde that that uninvolved observers are taking an interest."

Gilberto looked up hopefully when Mendoza let Felipe into the little room that housed the cells. "Say! Is that breakfast? I'm starving."

Felipe tucked the basket under his arm and signed, "Drop dead."

Gilberto choked a laugh of astonishment. "Why are you mad at me? I've been _arrested_. I mean, I thought you would have noticed..."

Felipe stepped out of the way so Mendoza could unlock the cell door. He could see Diego, now. He was sitting on the narrow bunk with his feet stretched out and his back resting against the wall. His eyes were closed and his face looked peaceful. He might be asleep.

"Really, Our Lord requires mercy to prisoners." Gilberto had the gall to actually _smile_. Felipe could have killed him. The smile faded. "Felipe?" he coaxed. "You cannot be angry with me. Not really?" He held out his hands and Felipe passed him the basket.

With his hands free he said, "Idiot. You've ruined everything. You weren't supposed to get arrested."

"Well, no," he admitted, untucking the napkin and poking through the basket. "Hard boiled eggs. Oh, that nice lamb sausage." He glanced up to meet Felipe's glower and sighed. "It's inconvenient, I admit. And complicated. But we will figure _something_ out. Stop worrying." He glanced at Mendoza, a reminder that they were not alone.

Felipe swallowed hard. His throat had a huge lump in it.

Gilberto came up to the bars. "He _is_ all right," he said softly.

Felipe swallowed again. "He takes medicine at noon."

"I know," Gilberto answered quietly. "He has two doses on him and so do I. And you will bring some with dinner. We are prepared. He will be fine."

Felipe nodded and left to go find Father Benitez and let him know how terribly wrong everything had gone. He found the little priest weeding his fall vegetable garden behind the rectory. He had heard about the morning's drama, of course. He disapproved of provoking the alcalde unnecessarily, even though he was as wild as Diego was about the idea of an independent press. He did promise to look in on them.

With nothing left to do in town, Felipe went back to the hacienda. He fed and curried Toronado. He didn't need exercise - Gilberto had had him out most of the night, searching the north valley for bandits. Well, maybe that was something: locked in the jail, the twins could catch up on their sleep...

Stupid Gilberto. _Now_ what were they going to do?

Toronado had no comment, of course.

Felipe packed a book, some clean clothing, a blanket, and a pillow and took them back to town.

He found the little jail almost crowded. A lancer was seated on a bench at the open doorway, whittling an ax-handle. One-Eared Pedro was in the second cell: probably he'd been arrested for getting drunk and starting fights again. It happened a lot on market day. Victoria was standing beside the cell, her small hands wrapped around the bars. Diego was on the other side, his own hands several inches above hers. Gilberto was seated on a bedroll on the floor, reading a book.

Gilberto set the book aside and reached through to take Felipe's package. "_One _pillow? You wound me. Fortunately, Senorita Escalante has already brought linens." Some months earlier the alcalde had announced that it was too much expense to provide blankets to prisoners and they would have to bring their own or do without. "Oh, and a book in English. Why, thank you. How thoughtful." Gilberto was learning English (to conceal the fact that he could speak excellent Russian) but he didn't enjoy it.

Felipe ignored him because Victoria was saying, "Are you sure? I've been talking to people, and there is some...unhappiness about your arrest. It wouldn't be hard..."

"To what? Arrange a riot? Absolutely not."

"I know it would be dangerous. But so is staying here. The alcalde - "

"Feels in control of the situation. He's not going to do anything outrageous. I'm quite sure."

She bit her lip. "I hate to think of you in here."

Diego grinned. "But they have put us in their very best cell! The view is exquisite, the company sublime, the appointments of excellent quality. Who could ask for anything more?" He gestured to the barred window, One-Eared Pedro, and the bedroll. Although the words weren't funny at all, something about the way he said them made Victoria laugh softly.

The smile faded quickly. "If you're sure..." she said uncertainly.

"There is no shame in being imprisoned for speaking the truth. I fully intend to live up to the standard you and my father set last year."

"_We_ were rescued by Zorro."

"I'm hoping it won't come to that."

When she was gone, Gilberto hummed a little tune at Diego without looking up from his book.

"You're impossible," Diego said to him. He turned to Felipe. "Now. What are you scowling about? Things are going swimmingly."

Felipe pointed at Gilberto and at the bars.

Diego nodded and signed, "Perfect, isn't it."

Felipe stepped closer. Gently, he asked, "Are you mad?"

The question actually seemed to surprise him. He frowned for a moment, then his fingers flew over the word, "Alibi." He gave a small, expectant smile. "Friday, Zorro will ride and _he_ will be _here_."

"How?"

But Diego glanced at the lancer sitting in the doorway. He wasn't quite looking at them, but he was listening. "Trust me, Felipe. There is nothing to fear."

Felipe took a deep breath and let it out.

"Trust me."

Felipe nodded.

_~TBC_


	5. September 20, 1814

**September 20, 1814**

It turned out that Diego had a plan. Well, of _course_ he did. It was Thursday night, though, before they had been enough alone for Diego to explain just what it was.

What made Diego positively _gleeful_ about the whole thing was that it provided another alibi for Gilberto. "When people wonder about him - and sooner or later, they will wonder about everyone - the fact that he was imprisoned when Zorro was fighting bandits in the north valley!" Diego rubbed his hands together. "I couldn't have hoped for an opportunity this perfect."

Felipe smothered his impatience. "How are we going to do it?"

"Tomorrow I will be quiet. Clearly not myself. Tomorrow night, for supper, you will bring another very nice meal. But into the soup and the orange juice each, you will put a half-dose of laudanum. I won't feel like eating, obviously. And Gilberto will be visibly worried about me, and not eat very much either."

"You're drugging the guards," Felipe realized. He had wondered why the twins hadn't seemed the least bit bothered when whoever was on duty helped himself to part of their meals from home.

Diego nodded toward the second cell. "Or if we have company." He took a deep breath. "You will also bring the key."

Oh. Well, that was simple.

Months ago Zorro, on one of his visits to the pueblo to check on the alcalde, had taken an impression of the keys to the cuartel. Then Zorro had struck a deal with the mission blacksmith to have copies made.

"He'll need Toronado and the clothing. If you can have them waiting behind the church..."

Felipe nodded. "But...what if someone checks on the cells?"

"Then they'll see Don Gilberto sitting up with his brother. I'll be in his jacket, and you know we are very similar in build. His voice will be harder to imitate, but I think I have it. People see what they expect to see."

Felipe shifted nervously. It was risky, more so than many of Diego's plans. But he could see why it appealed to him. The chance to shift suspicion away from Gilberto would be worth a lot to him.

Diego misunderstood his hesitation. "I know we hate to use my illness - "

Felipe shook his head. "Do we have a back up plan? Explosives?"

"No, that sort of thing would ensure that they checked on the prisoners. No back up plan. Subtlety is our greatest weapon."

Felipe almost laughed at that. As subtle as a jail break.

But it hadn't actually been complicated to prepare the food as Diego instructed. He offered to pack the hamper for Maria, and then it was only the work of a few seconds. Feeling pleased with himself, he headed out to the barn with the hamper -

And discovered Don Alejandro and half a dozen vaqueros saddling up. They were armed. Felipe set down the basked and asked, "Wolves?"

Don Alejandro laughed. "Only the two-footed kind! Don Sebastian just rode over to say that the lancers have ridden out on overnight patrol to San Pedro. Well, we're not leaving our neighbors alone to fight off bandits!"

Felipe shook his head franticly. "But Zorro will be there!"

"I expect so - Don't look so scandalized. We're not going to try to capture _him_." With that, he turned away to give instructions to Juan. Then he stopped himself. "Don't tell the boys. I don't want them worrying all night. There's nothing to be gained."

Felipe nodded. He would not tell Don Alejandro's boys, he would just tell Zorro and his strategist. Felipe went to saddle Sunshine.

Mendoza had been the only one on duty at the jail, and he let Felipe in very cheerfully, his eyes on the heavy hamper. Felipe ignored him. Diego was sitting on the prison cot, trying to look pale and out of sorts. It helped that Gilberto looked edgy and unhappy.

"Dinner's here," he said softly. "Are you hungry, Diego?"

"No. Thank you."

Gilberto held out his hands as Mendoza unlocked the cell. From the basket he removed the flask that always held strengthening tea...and a couple of apples...and some bread. "Maria must think we are running foot races in here. There is far too much food. Here, you take the rest. Make sure everyone on duty gets a share, eh?"

Mendoza, grinning, took the basket from Felipe's hands. Then he froze. He lifted his head very slowly. "Don Gilberto...I know what you're trying to do. But you don't have to. You will be treated honorably and fairly. You don't need to give up your dinner to get on our 'good side.' I swear it."

Gilberto closed his eyes. His hands closed around the bars.

Mendoza stepped closer. "The alcalde...he realizes he _needs_ the military. And the military, it needs discipline and the law. There are _lines_, Don Gilberto. And tormenting prisoners in the cells...withholding medication...It won't happen again."

Gilberto nodded stiffly, his eyes still closed. "I'm...I'm really not hungry. Thank you, Sergeant."

The silence was thick and unhappy. It lasted while Mendoza locked the door and withdrew to the outer office.

Gilberto suddenly spun on his brother. "You have to be right about _everything_. I hate you."

"Oh, yes. It's my fault Mendoza is a decent human being," Diego said wryly. "You'll blame me for the weather next."

Felipe clapped his hands for attention. "Your father is taking some men up to the Rivas farm."

Gilberto threw up his hands. "Well of _course_ he is! Perfect. More people shooting guns is bound to improve things."

"We should have expected he would do something. You will just have to be careful. Unless you would rather leave it up to him?" Diego answered calmly.

"No, I'm going. I'm going. It's always more complicated than it should be."

Felipe ignored Gilberto's grumbling and turned to Diego. "Are you all right?"

Diego nodded.

Outside the cuartel Felipe noticed two men try to open the doors of the tavern and fail. The doors were locked. That was odd. Felipe hesitated a long moment and turned toward the dry goods store, which was the best place to get news besides the tavern. Unfortunately, the only one there was the owner's son, Eugenio, who was sweeping up.

Eugenio Estevez was a snide little bully who thought himself very funny. He enjoyed the fact that Felipe was poor and an orphan. He was delighted with the fact that Felipe had no voice. Eugenio carefully cultivated little opportunities to remind Felipe of his shortcomings.

Eugenio was younger and smaller than Felipe, and he believed the only reason Felipe didn't just clout Eugenio in the jaw was that he was from a prominent and wealthy family, and Felipe was just a _casta_ servant. That wasn't it. It was the idea that word of it might get back to the de le Vegas.

Hitting someone smaller and weaker? No matter what Eugenio _said_ to Felipe, hitting him for it was not allowed. It wouldn't be a fair fight, and Felipe had spent too much time on the wrong end of those. All of the de le Vegas had pulled bigger, rougher boys off of Felipe over the years. Even Gilberto, who had resented Felipe so much. _That_ had rankled, being rescued by Diego's odious brother - more than once - but even Gilberto, for all his resentment, hadn't hurt him. He hadn't been kind or respectful or gentle, but he hadn't beaten up on him, and he hadn't let anyone else do it.

Felipe could only imagine their reaction if word got back to them that he had started a fight with a boy who only came to his shoulder.

Eugenio looked up, saw who was in the doorway, and turned away. Sighing inwardly, Felipe took a scrap of paper and a nub of charcoal from his sash and scrawled the question, "Why is the tavern closed?" He walked around Eugenio and held it where he could see it.

Eugenio considered for a moment and then snorted a brief laugh. "What, you don't know? Senorita Escalante took a wagon out to that farm in the north valley. Some people went with her - nobody who can hold off a group of bandits. Bunch of idiots, obviously."

Ugh. Felipe closed his eyes briefly. It just got worse and worse.

Eugenio swept his dust pile over Felipe's feet. Felipe almost laughed. _This_ was one of the innocent Californios Zorro regularly risked his life for? Of course, a couple of years ago, Felipe wouldn't have considered Gilberto himself any prize.

It was all Felipe could do not to run for Sunshine and race home. But there was no point in hurrying. He couldn't come back to meet Gilberto until dark.

Victoria and - who? Some of the farmers and tradesmen? What could they do but get in the way.

And testify that the lancers never came to help, even though the whole town knew the bandits were coming... That was desperate, though. Victoria must be pretty mad at the alcalde.

The house was very quiet. There was no music from the bunkhouse - everyone was either on the range or riding with Don Alejandro. With no more cooking that night, Maria had gone to her son's.

It would be a long night for Gilberto. Felipe packed the saddlebags with snacks: two canteens of water, some leftover chicken wrapped in a tortilla, apples... and some sweets, although it felt odd to go out of his way to be _quite_ so kind to Gilberto.

He dressed in some old clothes of Diego's - a bit too big, but dark grey to hide his shape in the night. When he reached the garden behind the church, Gilberto was already waiting. Toronado went right to him, whickering softly and pushing with his broad head. Gilberto leaned into the nudge and scratched Toronado's jaw.

Felipe clapped his hands impatiently. Gilberto looked, the moonlight making his face ghostly. "Victoria has taken a group to the north valley."

Gilberto frowned. "A group of what? _Why_?"

Felipe shrugged and shook his head. "To help?"

"To get in the way, rather. Lovely." He dug in the saddlebags and pulled out the black silk. "I'd say go home and come back for Toronado just before dawn, but tonight...I don't think I want you wandering around. Too many people, too nervous."

"I'll stay here," Felipe answered. He had an apple in his own pocket. He sat down in the shadow by the wall. While Gilberto changed in the shadow between Toronado and the wall, Felipe imagined going to the north valley, just to see how things would turn out. Don Alejandro would be clever; he'd hide his men and make them wait quietly. An ambush, when the bandits were expecting easy pickings. Victoria's plan would be different, probably. She'd use her numbers to try to chase the bandits off. Unless, maybe, Don Alejandro sent her party home.

If Felipe did go, _everyone_ would be angry with him. And that was the best outcome he could hope for. So he was stuck, by himself, wrapped in an old cloak of Diego's, eating an apple and sitting on a rock.

And then, Zorro mounted, tipped his hat smugly, and raced away.

Felipe considered spending the night feeling sorry for himself: the boredom, the hard ground, the cold...

He considered worrying: what if Mendoza became too worried about Diego and sent for the doctor? What if - with all those armed men in the darkness - there was an accident and someone was killed? Someone _not_ one of the bandits?

He decided not to think at all. He tried.

He leaned against the wall and pulled the cloak tighter. It wasn't so different than sleeping out during round-ups. One improvement was he didn't have to worry about somebody stepping on him if they got lost slipping into the bushes for a private moment.

Eventually...he dozed a little

~TBC


	6. September 21, 1814

_My first year in college I worked on the newspaper. We would type the story into the computer, proof it mostly by 'hand' and print it out on regular paper in one long column. And then we would cut it out of the paper with Exacto knives, and arrange the stories on the page (which involved making the column breaks with the knife and taping the articles in place.) We __had a stack of wooden rulers we used to get things even and vertical. And then when we finished at about ten pm, the editor would drive the sheets over to the Herald-Leader office to be printed on their big printers... _

_I was a pretty horrible journalist, but that's another story. _

_This story is finished, and the next one will be a while. I'm 80 pages in, and not half done, I think._

_As usual, I own no ideas and receive no reward except fun._

_Senselesswords, Theresez, Georgiamamma, Katta, and Martha, -thanks so much for all your support. _

**September 21, 1814 **

The moon was setting when the thump of hoof beats roused him. Felipe crept along the wall and peeked around the church. Was there movement? This wasn't a good angle to see the cuartel gates. Was that someone leaving? Or, no, a riderless horse wandering away.

Quick hoof beats behind him. Felipe turned. A shadow, dark on dark. The moon was behind the tavern now and there was _so_ little light. The shadow, sliding like silk across the land. Felipe grinned. Toronado. He rushed forward and took the bridle.

"Where were you?" Gilberto groused. "I whistled."

Felipe shrugged. He hadn't heard anything. "What happened?" he asked.

"I tied their leader to the alcalde's doorstep," Zorro laughed. "A gift. Father is bringing the rest, walking behind Victoria's wagon." He dismounted lightly. "I feel almost superfluous; they would have handled it nicely without me. Except for the two who would have escaped, of course." If he was preening, it was too dark to tell. "All quiet here in town?"

Felipe nodded.

"All that is left is to get back into the cell," Gilberto continued without pausing to see Felipe's answer. He stripped off the hat and mask and ran his hands through his hair. "Damn. It's later than I thought."

Felipe stroked Toronado's nose. He was well lathered, but not sagging or winded. Still, it would be best to walk home. Could they make it before dawn? Certainly, he would get home before Don Alejandro, if he was guarding a group of walking prisoners.

Gilberto kept on talking. "Did I mention, Victoria's little crew brought pitchforks? They came streaming out of that shabby house, and the bandits found themselves trapped between the armed de le Vega vaqueros and half a dozen men holding very sharp points. And, you know, it's hard to miss with a pitchfork." He grunted thoughtfully. He was slipping on his shoes now. "The lancers won't be back before nine or ten, I would think. Sepulveda is in charge, and he will probably detour a bit south to avoid that ravine...I think he is afraid of mountain lions. Wise enough, if you were alone on foot and the mountain lions were desperate, but not such an issue for a column of lancers. Ah, well. Sepulveda. He's become quite timid lately, especially after the mine collapse... and last spring with the quicksand...Oh, and that bear, which I still maintain was _not_ something I planned."

Sighing inwardly, Felipe slapped his shoulder. "Calm down," he said broadly. "You've had a long _quiet _night, worrying."

"Yes, all right. I do remember." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Don't bring breakfast any earlier than usual. It's just another day."

Felipe snorted. Obviously.

It wasn't as dark as it had been. In the east there was a purple glow.

Patronizingly, Gilberto ruffled Felipe's hair and then slipped away into the deeper shadows of the garden. Felipe stretched up and mounted Toronado's broad back. He turned toward home, not too fast, avoiding the road, not looking back.

In the safety of the cave, he rubbed Toronado down, watered him, fed him, combed out his tail. He forced himself not to rush.

He changed back into his regular clothes and went upstairs. There was no telling when Don Alejandro would come home. He probably wouldn't rush back to the house...but just in case he did, Felipe settled in a chair in the library and pretended to be innocently asleep.

Or at least that was the intent. Maria woke him an hour after dawn, when she was looking over the house. She fussed a bit: _surely_ he hadn't spent the night waiting up? There wasn't any help he could be, not with the boys in jail and everyone else gone? What had happened to his good sense? And then she had hugged him hard and admitted she was worried, too, and took him to the kitchen to help prepare the hamper and snack on little hominy cakes and hard-cooked eggs. And _then_, she had had him hook up the wagon, so they could both go in to town and see the state of things.

Pepe, who had been up early because he'd had to do the barn chores by himself (Felipe should have thought of that and helped him, really) promised he was finished and begged to come along, too, so in the end it was the three of them.

The town was so full of horses and people it might have been market day. The jail was full, too. The other cell was packed with big, scowling, dirty men. Felipe gulped in the doorway. Mendoza, looking exhausted and bewildered, waved Maria and him in.

Gilberto was seated on the bunk, his arms folded, his eyes suspicious (or perhaps sleepy) slits. Diego was standing at the front of the cell, his hands curled around the bars. Victoria was on the other side. Her hair was a bit bedraggled and she was dusty, but she was smiling and laughing about something. Diego sighed at something she said and gripped the bar tighter, but before Felipe could wonder about it, Maria gasped, "Don Diego! Surely, you're not to be kept with - with _criminals_!"

There was a sudden, brief silence. Then the bandits laughed. So did Diego. "Yes, and it's about time, too. I knew all of _his_ jokes before we were locked in. Say, I don't suppose any of you can play chess?"

A couple of the bandits laughed. The rest glanced at Diego anxiously, as though they weren't certain of his sanity.

Swallowing hard and trying not to let his eyes drift to the other prisoners - ruthless brigands, who liked to scare people and take things and set farms on fire and besides all that, Felipe could _smell_ them now, they didn't bathe or have families or go to church and really, really, he understood Maria's response, because the idea of these animals anywhere near the twins was just too much, and why hadn't anyone thought of that before they got here - Felipe walked to the bars and began to pass breakfast from the basket: fresh bread, some cheese, a flask of chocolate, some oranges, a hard sausage.

The bandits grew silent, watching every move, the food taking their weary attention.

Gilberto, who had risen to accept the items through the bars, nodded toward Diego. "Our poor editor. He is devastated: last night we missed the story of the year. Apparently, there was an epic battle. Zorro was in rare form, a one man army. And then, of course, there was Father _with_ a small army. And no one taking notes..."

"It was fantastic," Victoria said, her eyes shining, her face smudged with dirt. "I can't even describe it. Oh, Diego, I _am_ sorry."

"It doesn't matter now," Diego said. "I'm not the editor anymore." He tried to smile wryly, but the expression got lost in the dark look he was giving Gilberto. Felipe wasn't sure what was bothering him: missing the story, losing the newspaper, or envying Zorro that happy light in Victoria's eyes.

"Where is Don Alejandro now?" Maria asked, glancing toward the door that led to the Alcalde's office. "Is that -?"

Gilberto nodded. "Oh, yes. That's him. They've been arguing for fifteen minutes now. If anything, they're getting louder."

Victoria glanced at the door. "Perhaps someone should interrupt them?" she said tentatively .

Gilberto shrugged and sat down again, peeling an orange. "I wouldn't worry. The alcalde can't arrest him; there's no place to _put _anyone else."

Maria edged closer to the twins' cell. Diego reached through the bars and patted her arm. "It will be all right," he promised quietly.

The inner door flew open so hard it banged into the wall. Don Alejandro paused in the doorway. He breathed in and unclenched his fists. He looked around the crowded little jail. He sighed.

The bandits pointedly glared at him for a moment, and then just as pointedly turned away.

Don Alejandro stepped forward. He patted Victoria's shoulder, gave each of the twins a single, hard look, and then collected Maria and Felipe with an arm around each of their shoulders. "He is being stubborn," he said. "I am sorry."

Diego glanced at the next cell. "Today? I don't imagine he's in the mood to be generous. Perhaps...well...The magistrate comes through sometime next month..."

Don Alejandro rumbled. It felt like a growl.

Diego shared a look with Victoria and she turned and said, "Why don't you come and have some breakfast? Pilar is pretty good with eggs? You might as well relax for a few minutes; things will probably be busy later..."

So he sent Felipe and Maria home with most of the ranch hands, and went over to the tavern for breakfast.

**September 25, 1814 Epilogue**

It was warm for September, and Mendoza had taken to propping the outer doors open to take advantage of the breeze. With seven prisoners, the cells could easily become ripe.

Seven: the two de le Vegas and five bandits. The bandit leader had attacked the alcalde in his office on Monday morning, and been killed trying to escape. Gilberto had been unusually quiet since. Diego, while glib and cheerful, had a look in his eyes that Felipe found worrisome.

A dead bandit. He might well have hung anyway. And a long prison term at hard labor might have made him wish he'd had a swift death. There was not question of his guilt or that the alcalde had perverted the law: Zorro and Don Alejandro had _caught_ the man in the act of committing his crime.

While the loss of life - even a bandit's life - might upset Diego, Gilberto was not normally so sentimental... Felipe had asked if _perhaps_ Gilberto believed that the Alcalde had deliberately arranged the death, but the twins had refused to discuss it, even in sign. Whatever the problem was all they could do was carry on and wait for either the magistrate to arrive or the alcalde to get tired of holding them.

Mendoza was crossing the plaza when Felipe arrived that day with lunch, and he slowed down so Felipe could catch up and follow him through the main gate. Lately, when Felipe arrived he could hear Gilberto reading aloud: adventure stories or lurid histories. It was much more for their neighbors than for Diego. It was very boring, being locked up, and Gilberto (as Felipe had reason to know) read very compellingly. The remaining bandits were as delighted with the stories as they were with the extra food the de le Vegas sometimes slipped their way, and as a result they had become very congenial neighbors.

No doubt that was the plan. Gilberto could be very charming, when he bothered.

Today, though, things were strangely quiet. Felipe didn't hear anything at all until he'd followed Sergeant Mendoza through the open door. Father Benitez was there, in the cell with the twins (although from the very serious looks on the faces of the bandits, he had been to visit them, too).

"A whole week of inactivity now, and that cannot be good for you," the priest was saying.

"Father," Diego protested innocently, "Perhaps you've noticed - "

"The bars and the guards, Diego, yes, I had noticed."

"My options for exercise are rather limited," Diego continued.

"I will speak to the alcalde. You are hardly a risk for escape. Arrangements must be made so that you can take some air...here in the fort, I suppose. But you must get some exercise." He sighed. The bandits sat in respectful (or possibly cowed, Father Benitez could be very strict when it was necessary) silence. Diego looked a bit embarrassed. Gilberto looked smug. Felipe chewed his lower lip.

"Excuse me, Father," Mendoza interrupted. "I don't think it will be necessary." He stepped closer and lowered his voice, "I think the alcade might let them go today."

Gilberto, who had been slouched in the corner, straightened at once. "You don't say! What's happened?"

He went right up to the bars. "Senor Diaz arrived last night, the governor's representative, to check on the newspaper... It was very late. He went straight to the tavern for a room rather than checking in..."

"We hadn't heard," Diego said.

"No one did until later...And the newspaper came out this morning. The alcalde's newspaper." He winced.

"Oh, dear," Father Benitez said. "Senor Diaz didn't like it?"

"Well...you know...he thought the front page was perhaps...not very interesting..."

"Oh?" Father Benitez asked innocently.

Diego caught Felipe's eye and spelled out, "Alcalde's biography," with his hands.

"And then...well...lancers, we don't have the training for, what do you call it, typesetting?"

Diego nodded sympathetically. "I did wonder about capturing the vanilla."

"Those letters are very _small_," Mendoza protested.

"Oh, believe me, I understand," Diego said sympathetically. "We spent days working on that. No one can just pick it up, even if you know the principle."

"Yes, well, Senor Diaz is not happy. And someone showed him _last_ week's newspaper. It led to...awkward questions."

"I can imagine," Father Benitez said dryly.

"So. Anyway. Do not worry. I think these two will not be our guests for very much longer. Perhaps...maybe less than an hour."

The twins didn't look at each other and they didn't smile, but Felipe could see their satisfaction.

_~end_


End file.
